Still Breathing
by Montley
Summary: You stare at the full-length mirror in front of you, your brown eyes wandering up and down your pale, white body, trying to avoid seeing them. Your scars, your fresh scars that will never fade away and return the beauty you had once possessed.


_A/N: I simply couldn't resist writing another story with one of my OTPs! I hope you enjoy reading this and don't mind the use of second person (because I really like it for some reason!). _

_Please review :)_

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Still Breathing

By Montley

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You stare at the full-length mirror in front of you, your brown eyes wandering up and down your pale, white body, trying to avoid seeing _them_. Your scars, your fresh scars that will never fade away and return the beauty you had once possessed. You have tried everything to rid yourself of them since that day you found out that they will never dissipate, but yet everything failed and the stares keep coming wherever you wander.

There's a picture of you tacked to the mirror, showing you the way that you used to be before. No scars, no marks, no flaws adorned on your body.

And you crumble to the floor and weep silently.

You remember the day it had happened clearly. Harry Potter, The Chosen One, had finally returned to Hogwarts with his best friends, the one you had once dated, Ron Weasley, and your old roommate, Hermione Granger. Hope had started to soar in your mind once you looked inside Harry's bright green orbs behind his askew glasses, knowing that the reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would finally come to a close. You remember fighting for the cause against the Death Eaters, especially the Carrows, throughout your school year with your friends and those whom you had never even known, or cared to know, before the war began. Then the day Harry Potter came it was time to finally fight for what was right in order to end the war for the light with pure victory that you knew was soon in reach.

You fought, you stunned and you cursed your opponents. The adrenaline was flying through your veins as Hogwarts was breaking all around you. But then Fenrir pounced upon your weak body and dug his claws into your pale skin, sealing your fate within the sharp, deep, scratches.

The scarlet red blood, which had seeped out of you in a mocking manner, had turned your body into a rag doll, and you could no longer move as if death was in reach, ready to claim your soul in his cadaverous grip. Yet you remember hearing a feminine voice cry out, and with a blast of color, she had saved you, but had left you stirring in the darkness, unaware of your fate as you faded in and out of reality. In a way, you had wished you had died that day, so you would not have to face the world's constant ridicule. For you were then branded as an outcast by your scars.

As you laid there, the fight reverberating through your ears, you knew that death surrounded you. But a pair of strong arms carried your slump, twitching body into safety, blasting curses at those who dared try to harm you, a broken, but still breathing body. After placing your body down in a hidden spot away from the battle, the boy with the sandy hair bent down and kissed you for a split second before running off to fight once more.

It had been hours until someone had collected your unconscious, bleeding, body from the alcove he had hidden you in. Days later you had finally awoken to a blinding white light flooding your pallid and drowning body. A pair of beautiful blue eyes were gazing happily at you, at your slump, scarred body. Your voice had been too raspy and your throat too dry to speak a word. He had smiled and he spoke of the outcome of the war, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was finally vanquished, his lifeless body tossed to the side, away from the deceased heroes and heroines. You cried at his words, happy that you were alive, but miserable that so many others died instead of you. For who were you, besides a needy, brash Gryffindor?

And you wonder about the girl who had saved you, who she must have been and if she was still alive herself. No matter who she was, you had prayed that she was still alive. You had later told him of her, how you heard her and then about the boy who dragged you away, into a small, secluded alcove. He smirked at that fact, and you ran your fingers through his sandy hair. illuminated by his bright, blue eyes, and you smiled in realization before you had kissed him.

Throughout the days at St. Mungos, he was there; his strong arms helped you to eat, to stand and to walk around. He held you in his arms and hugged you throughout those long, endless days, yearning to fix you while his own wounds were still unhealed.

That's when you forced him to show you your reflection; tainted and marred. He stood behind you as the tears watered your eyes and your fingers traced over the long, white scars forever on your body, starting from your cheek and ending at the curve of your hip. Your blue hospital gown could not hide it, and your blonde ringlets could not conceal it. Then he kissed your cheek, unfazed by your scar, and he never let go of your broken, bruised body which he thought was so beautiful.

And there you are, years later, still desiring the past before the war, before the pain and before the torture. Though he is still there at your side as your sole protector. He loves you, and he is the only light that has come out of the war. He does not judge you, he does not care about the scars on your face. The only ones that matter to him are the ones that are trapped forever within your body and your soul.

And you love him.

You love him as he holds you in front of the mirror and tells you that you are beautiful, that you, Lavender Brown, are a beautiful person, inside and out.

Yet, he has his own scars and marks on his face from the terror of the Carrows, which had made him almost unrecognizable except for his bright, blue eyes that had led you out of the darkness. His life is not devoid of pain and suffering; he is also haunted, and you are there to soothe his fears with your tender touch and kisses for the remainder of your intertwined lives.

But when you are in front of a mirror, everything overwhelms you, the memories and the pain of the war. The white scars will never fade. Yet, neither will Seamus. The broken boy who will always stand by the broken girl.

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_A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the story!_

_This was for:_

_Wand Wood Competition: Elder_

_HP Potions Competition: Drink of Despair_

_Gemstone Competition: Agate_


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